SpyGeniusKillerDoctorCaptain
by Notorious JMG
Summary: Stress, frustration, work - a Labor Day vacation might be the prescription for a seriously stressed-out Spy. One shot.
1. Stressed Spy, Sandy Beach

Shafts of sunlight played across the bed. Motes of dust hung in the air, suspended by unseen currents wafting across the room.

The distant sound of a guitar playing reached her ears. Grimacing, she rolled over and attempted to block out the light and noise – but to no avail.

With a frustrated sigh, she sat up in bed. Not quite eight o'clock, the morning was already annoying her.

Not that she was a morning person in general. After all, she had once put a throwing knife through an alarm clock for daring to wake her.

But this – this was supposed to be a weekend of relaxation. Labor Day weekend after Labor Day weekend had been spent in Cabo San Lucas with a man who she wasn't sure she'd ever truly known –

Was he a traitor? Was he a hero? Was he maybe even a little bit of both?

No matter what, though, she had come close to a breaking point, lashing out at the people she considered her friends, lashing out at her superiors – she was on the edge, said the occupational therapist, and she needed some time off.

And so it was that the Spy had been sent on a Company-mandated vacation – five days pretty much as far from Cabo San Lucas as she could get, five days soaking up the sunshine on the shores of the Mediterranean, five days in Patra, Greece.

The Company had chosen well. A hotel that was spitting distance from the Mediterranean Sea, her own suite, the beach out her back door – it was beautiful. But no matter – she couldn't stop thinking about the two of them.

Her asset, and her partner. The Genius and the Killer. Even for just five days, her life seemed strange without the two of them around. It seemed natural for the Killer to be by her side whenever she went anywhere, ready to defend them both at the drop of a hat. And without the Genius – she felt empty without him around.

The worst part was, she had only been here for sixteen hours.

The Genius was her source of greatest joy – and more often than not, her source of greatest frustration. The Spy loved him dearly, loved him like she had never loved a man before him – and yet, she couldn't show him, couldn't tell him, because the Company would rake her over the coals for her impropriety.

But worse yet was that the Genius was so bullheaded, so asinine, so STUPID sometimes. He wouldn't listen to reason, wouldn't follow instructions, would go rushing headlong into situations he knew damn well he couldn't handle.

And the situation was never the same twice. Once, she had been pinned down by gunfire, and he had come charging down the street in the Killer's truck. By luck or by design – she wasn't sure which – he had managed to flatten the Enemy – at the risk of his own life.

Another time, though, it hadn't been mortal danger. There had been no danger at all. They had simply been at the apartment of the Genius' sister, the Doctor, watching a movie with her and her fiancée, the Captain. It had been one of those cookie cutter romantic movies – the type designed to make women feel happy, with a strange degree of success.

Toward the end of the movie, the Genius had done something that the Spy still wasn't sure of his motivations for – whether he decided to be bold, whether he was trying to backstop their cover – she could find no rhyme or reason for it. For he, the Genius, he who hated public displays of affection with a certain alacrity, he had whispered her name –

"_Sarah –_"

– the Spy turned toward him, and before she even knew what had happened, she had felt the Genius' lips on her own. Her heart had frozen, her brain had screeched to a halt. Her instincts, every one of them trained and designed by the Company, had screamed, "NO, NO, NO! STOP NOW! ABANDON SHIP!"

And yet, her heart – long unnoticed, but still there, still guiding so many of her actions – quietly whispered, "Don't stop."

For reasons that the Spy yet did not understand, she had followed her heart. She had allowed the Genius to kiss her, and she had kissed him back. It didn't last long, it wasn't anything serious, it was just a sweet, loving kiss – the type that she hadn't experienced in so very, very long.

That was all that had happened. There was nothing further that night – he didn't try it again when she left for the evening, choosing instead to wrap her in his embrace, whispering in her ear again –

"_I love you, Sarah_ –"

– and the Spy had spent the next two days wracked by a million emotions. She had no idea how to continue – nor could she speak with the Genius about what had occurred, because the Store had sent both him and the Killer out of town – a business trip, the Company later told her.

During the briefing, the Spy had grown angry that the Company had allowed the other two to be sent out of town without her being notified. When she snapped and railed at the Director, he very calmly listened, and then informed the Spy that she needed to take a vacation. He justified that the Genius would be perfectly safe in the Killer's company, and that it would look suspicious had the Spy gone along on the trip with them.

And so, it was determined that she would be sent away from the world of spies and killers for five days. The Genius and the Killer would be notified, so that they would not worry when they returned to the City of Angels and found that the Spy was missing.

So here she was, now, lying naked in a bed nearly seven thousand miles away from the Genius. She wondered how he had reacted when the Director had told him –

"_You sent her out of town without even telling me?!_"

– and knew that it probably hadn't gone over well with him. The Spy allowed the faintest hint of a smile to trace itself on her lips as she thought about how overly protective the Genius seemed to be sometimes –

"_Did you ever consider that maybe we had plans for Labor Day Weekend?! Uh, I mean, for our cover, of course._"

– not that she needed the protection, of course – put her in a room with a dozen armed men, and five minutes later, she'd be the only one still standing – but it had been so long since she had had a relationship of any sort with a man who knew of her training, and yet was still willing to "be the man" in the relationship –

"_Director, did it ever occur to you that the best way to get cooperation from the Intersect is to NOT piss me off?!_"

– it was actually refreshing for her. The Spy felt safe when she was around the Genius, even though that if it came down to it, she would be the one keeping him safe.

She sighed and reluctantly swung her body into a sitting position, her feet coming down to land on the floor. A run – a shower – breakfast – coffee, mmm – those would maybe brighten her mood a little.

The Spy drew looks – mostly lascivious ones – as she jogged through the streets of Patra. The form-fitting green t-shirt from the Store and the short jogging shorts didn't help the situation, but having been assigned to Greece for a brief while years before, she had long since learned to blow off the wolf whistles and offers of carnal relations that followed behind her like an invisible tail.

When she returned to the hotel, she entered her hotel room, fully intending to strip down and take a shower, but –

She looked out the back door, and there it was, the Mediterranean Sea, sparkling blue, looking oh so inviting –

And before she knew it, she had stripped down to her sports bra and panties, and was running across the beach, into the surf. The water of the Med was warm, so much warmer than the Pacific ever was – warm, comfortable.

She swam – swam out, till she turned around and realized that she was nearly a quarter mile out. The hotel was distant, far away – and the tide was out. Swimming back in was going to be a workout.

By the time she reached the sand once again, she was exhausted – but exhausted in a good kind of way, in the way where you KNOW you've done good for your body, where every muscle aches but it feels so, so good.

Brushing the wet hair out of her face, she trudged across the beach and back into her hotel room. Without stopping, she closed the door, stripped off her underwear, and locked herself in the bathroom, turning the water as hot as it would go.

Fifteen minutes later, she reluctantly turned the water off. Steam filled the bathroom, creating a hazy mist as she stepped out. She toweled off, and then wrapped another towel around herself.

She stood in the cloud of steam for a few moments, allowing the warm, moist air to soothe her aching muscles, to try to clear her head. Feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks, she opened the door and stepped out –

The Spy was not alone. She couldn't see whoever was in the room with her, but she could feel it. Years of training, sharpening her skills, had led her to be able to tell when there was an intruder.

Making as little noise as possible, she crept, catlike, to where her purse hung by the door. Her backup gun was in the purse, loaded, as always. She reached in, pulled out the snub-nosed .38 revolver –

Slowly pulled the hammer back –

Leveled the gun, pointed straight outwards –

Tiptoed, back to the wall, into the main part of the room, swung around into the kitchen –

"DON'T MOVE!" she shouted, the gun pointed at the intruder –

And the intruder, shocked, whirled around, to look at her –

The Spy's jaw dropped. "What the hell are YOU doing here?" she asked, shocked.

A rueful smile crossed the Genius' face. "I yelled at the Director for sending you away without telling me, and he told me, and I quote, that if it was such a goddamn problem, he'd send me out here too."

Despite the fact that this vacation was supposed to be the Spy's time to be away from the Genius for a little while and to try to work her emotions out, she couldn't help but be happy to see him. A smile crept across her face. "Well, I can't say that I mind that much," she replied.

But then, then all those emotions, the ones that she never got to process, because the Store sent the Genius away, came rushing to the surface. The very reason she was sent away – to process – had been negated by his presence.

The Spy had to know something, though. "Monday night," she said quietly. "You said something… and I have to know if you meant it, or if it was just one of those 'in the moment' sort of things."

The Genius smiled. "You mean, the part where I said, 'I love you, Sarah'?"

The Spy nodded. "That's the one."

His smile got even bigger. "Of course I meant it. I meant it with every fiber of my being."

She looked down at the floor and smiled shyly. It wasn't right. Men weren't supposed to love her. Men who fell for her were supposed to fall for her because she was doing her job, not because she had fallen for them, too."

The Spy looked back up at the Genius. He had an expectant look on his face, a twinkle in his eyes, and the smile that she always loved to see. As she thought about what to say, she could feel her heart pounding at what felt like double-time, the sound of blood rushing in her head –

She crossed the kitchen to him –

Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his back, and rested her head against his chest. She smiled and closed her eyes. He held her for a moment, and then –

"You know, you're getting my shirt awfully wet there."

The Spy laughed. "I'm sure you'll live."

The Genius gently pushed her away from him, and looked her in the eyes, a mock-serious look on his face. "I don't know… I like this shirt a whole lot, and there's a big wet spot on it – it might be the end of me."

Sarah Walker rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Chuck Bartowski, you will be absolutely fine, if only because…"

She took a breath, and smiled. "If only because I love you, too."


	2. Liberal, Conservative, Indifferent

She could feel it – the slight chill in the air – indicative of the first week of October in Nashville.

At least, she thought it was because it was the first week of October. She decided it could've been the downright frostiness between the Genius and the Killer.

The Spy sighed. She was indifferent, at best. If she could've avoided this trip, she would have. But no – the Director had decided that the Genius needed to go, to watch over the dialogue between the Veteran and the Prodigy.

As if he would be able to stop anything that the Hidden couldn't. Nonetheless, the Director, and by extension, the Company thought it important that the Genius be there – JUST in case he saw anybody.

Of course, the Genius was elated to have this chance. He had been following the Prodigy since the day he had declared. The Genius had watched in rapt awe as the Prodigy stood where the Emancipator once had, and had declared his intention to become the new Leader of the Free World.

The Killer, of course, thought that the Prodigy was a joke – "And an inexperienced one at that," he had been heard to snort derisively. It almost went without saying that the Killer had a sticker proclaiming the Veteran and his sidekick, the Governess, on the bumper of his precious, shiny car.

Either way, though, both the Genius and the Killer were quite pleased to attend the event – even if they were completely on opposite sides of it. Unfortunately, they'd gotten into something of a kerfluffle on the flight from the City of Angels. The Spy had watched with a mixture of amusement and disgust as they nearly went to each other's throats.

However, now they were barely speaking to each other, and that was bad. If the Genius were to identify anybody, he would need to tell both the Spy and the Killer immediately. But the Killer was acting like the Petulant Child, and so the Spy couldn't help but think that they could be in for trouble.

When it was time to begin, though, they both quieted down and sat. By nature of their assignment, they had been granted choice seats – directly behind the Anchor, within spitting distance of both the Veteran and the Prodigy.

"_Welcome, ladies and gentlemen –_"

The Anchor's voice carried to the back of the hall. One of the most respected newsmen in America, the Anchor carried about him an air of gravitas that modern newscasters simply did not have. His voice commanded respect, his visage sparked memories in three generations of Americans.

He had been chosen to moderate this dialogue between the Prodigy and the Veteran. By virtue of the fickle finger of Lady Luck, the quarter in the Anchor's pocket declared that the Prodigy would receive the first question.

Much to the dismay of the Genius and those near him, the first question regarded the War. Now, they all believed that the Prodigy was certainly correct in his personal assessment of the war. However, they knew that the moment he stopped speaking, the Veteran would lambast him, likely using his own military experience to back himself up.

And indeed he did. No sooner had the Prodigy finished speaking when the Veteran spoke himself. It could not be said that the Veteran sounded foolish – he truly knew that of which he spoke, and his rebuttal drew several grunts of approval from the Killer – himself a veteran, though of a different branch and more recent service.

So it went, back and forth, forward and backward, until the Veteran made a critical error – he spoke of the relative inexperience of the Prodigy, and the Prodigy leapt on him like a cheetah on a wounded gazelle.

Inexperience, the Prodigy cracked. Inexperience was the WATCHWORD of the Veteran's campaign – after all, what experience did his running mate, the Governess, have? Less than two years as the leader of a distant and remote tundra?

The Prodigy reminded the Veteran that his own running mate, the Legislator, had decades of experience to draw upon, and countless relationships within the Beltway. The Spy noticed a gleam in the Genius' eye when the Prodigy said this, and she saw that he had to actually physically refrain from standing and applauding the Prodigy.

The Killer, on the other hand, looked downright disgruntled. The Spy sighed – sometimes she wished she cared about politics, but in her line of work, it was difficult to be anything more than indifferent about grown men arguing over who would do a better job of cutting taxes and creating energy independence.

The Genius turned, his face aglow with excitement, and opened his mouth to say something to the Spy – but then his eyes glazed over. The Spy recognized the signs – the Genius was experiencing a Flash.

When he snapped out of it, she spoke to him –

"_What did you see, Chuck?_"

The excitement on the Genius' face was replaced with fear and, yes, anger. Eyes narrowed, he pointed to a man, sitting at the end of the row –

"_He's a member of the KKK. There's no way he can be up to any good._"

The Spy turned and looked. There he sat, a Skinhead, a laughably stereotypical example of the White Supremacist movement –

"_Not him. The guy in the business suit._"

The Spy was shocked. Her judgment had been wrong. The Genius said that the mild-mannered looking man in the business suit and horn-rimmed glasses was a Racist Bastard.

"_Alright. I'll take care of it. Stay put._"

The Spy sat and waited. After five minutes, the Anchor indicated a brief break. At that point, the Spy made her move – she stood – shuffled toward the end of the row – made eye contact with one of the Hidden –

The officer's back stiffened as he realized what the Spy was communicating to him. He began to discreetly move toward the Racist Bastard –

The Spy reached him first, and stopped –

"_Federal agent, sir. Please come with me._"

He looked confused, angry even. He rose and began to quietly complain about his rights, and then got louder when the Hidden approached. As he was escorted from the hall, the Spy turned toward the Genius and indicated that he should come with her.

The Genius shook his head and pointed at the stage, where the Prodigy and the Veteran were returning to their lecterns. The Spy rolled her eyes, pointed at him, and then pointed at the ground where she stood. Angrily, the Genius rose from his seat and began to stomp toward her.

When he reached her, she grabbed him by the upper arm and began to lead him out of the hall –

"_This is a MISSION, Chuck!_"

– but they stopped when they reached the foyer. The Racist Bastard was surrounded by four members of the Hidden –

"_Yeah, that's him –_"

He began to shout bloody murder, alternating between loudly proclaiming his rights and declaring that the Prodigy would surely perish, that the White Man would never allow such a travesty to occur. The Hidden did not seem to care, dragging him out of the building.

The Spy did not care to consider where he might be taken.

But at the moment, she had a pissed-off Genius to deal with. She approached him, fire in her eyes, intent to tear a strip off –

Before she could get a word out, he had leapt to his feet and launched into a tirade. How dare she, he barked. The experience of a lifetime, and she pulls him out simply to make an identification that could have easily waited until the end of the dialogue.

She had no response to that. The Genius was correct – the identification could've waited until it was all over. The Hidden would've had no problem keeping the Racist Bastard under control. So why had she pulled him out?

The Spy found that she had no answer for herself. She heard the Genius angrily grumble that security wouldn't let him back into the hall. She turned toward him, this time intent to apologize –

And discovered that he was halfway to the other end of the foyer, stomping toward a bench like a young boy who has had his toy taken away. He slumped down onto the bench and looked away from her.

The Spy moved to a chair near the doors and sat – it gave her the perfect vantage point to watch the Genius without being noticed. She watched as the anger drained from him. His shoulders slumped, his face turned from rage to disappointment.

The Spy cursed herself for doing this to him. It had happened so many times, and she swore that after Greece, it would never happen again. Yet it still happened, over and over and over.

Such was the nature of working for the Company.

But she had decided that every so often, she owed it to him to try to make it up to him. And so, she pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

Five minutes later, she had spoken with the Director, and he promised her that it would be taken care of. Five more minutes passed, then ten, then twenty –

Thunderous applause indicated that the end had come. The doors opened, and a rush of humanity flooded out.

As the Spy watched, two officers of the Hidden approached the Genius. She saw them speak to him, saw a puzzled look cross his face, and then saw him rise and follow them. As they passed her, she stood and joined them.

The Spy maneuvered herself next to the Genius, and gently slipped her hand into his. She felt his body tense, and saw the dregs of anger wash across his face, but he didn't try to remove his hand. Instead, he tightened it around hers.

She knew where they were going, but he had no idea. His questions to the Hidden went unanswered, and after a moment, she saw a look of consternation begin to appear on his face.

They entered one of the backstage areas of the hall, and the Hidden led them to a classroom just outside of the stage door. One of the officers knocked, and the door was opened from within.

The Genius and the Spy were escorted into what looked like a Green Room –

"_Wait here_ –"

– and the door was shut, leaving them alone.

She turned to him –

"_I'm sorry… I know how much this meant to you…_"

He sighed. He shook his head. When he looked at her, there was a mixture of hurt and disappointment in his eyes.

"_You tell me you love me. You tell me you can't imagine life without me. And then you go and do things like this – something completely unnecessary, something that could've waited until the debate was over. I mean… Sarah, why?_"

The Spy had no answer. She just shook her head and looked at the floor. Then a sound startled them both – the door being opened –

Two officers of the Hidden swept into the room, and behind them –

The Prodigy.

The Genius' jaw fell open. He looked at the Prodigy, then at the Spy. The look on his face was now one of utter shock –

"_Sarah… did you… was this –_"

She smiled and nodded, and he gave her quite possibly the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Embracing her tightly, he kissed her –

"_Thank you thank you thank you!_"

– and leapt to his feet. Chuck Bartowski nearly tripped over himself, but managed to regain his composure as he stuck out his hand.

"Senator Obama… oh my God, sir, this is such… uh…"

Barack Obama smiled and took Chuck's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bartowski, was it?"

Chuck's eyes widened, and for a moment, Sarah Walker was afraid he was going to pass out. But instead, he smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir, Senator!"

"Well, I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Chuck – may I call you Chuck?"

Sarah smiled. Chuck was beginning to look like a bobblehead as he nodded.

"Chuck… tell me. I keep getting these CIA briefings about a guy from L.A., named Chuck Bartowski, with this computer database in his head… is this all true?"

Sarah slipped out of the room to leave Chuck to babble about the Intersect to Senator Obama. She ran into John Casey as she exited.

"I cannot believe you did that," Casey growled. "Little bastard's gonna be insufferable."

_Author's Note:__ Okay, so a quick word explaining who's who. Some of the people were explicitly named - Chuck is the Genius, Sarah is the Spy, Casey is the Killer, Barack Obama is the Prodigy. As for the rest of them, obviously the Veteran is John McCain. The Governess is his running mate, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin. The Legislator is Obama's running mate - Senator Joe Biden. The Hidden are the Secret Service, and the Anchor is NBC's Tom Brokaw, who actually is the moderator of the October 7th debate at Belmont University in Nashville, TN._


End file.
